Blow Out My Wishes, Blow Out My Dreams
by DreamsInBlackAndWhite
Summary: Every single day she must remind him. He pretends to have forgotten. Pretends to apologize. She pretends to believe him, living her lies because it's easier than facing the truth. The truth holds only pain for her. Y's Mother's POV.


**Just another little one-shot about Yassen. From his mother's POV. I'd love if you'd review because I spent a while trying to get this out. It was hard to write. I really hope you like it. **

**-DIBAW**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Alex Rider series. Or 'Braille' by Regina Spektor. This story is dedicated to anybody who has ever reviewed anything I've written. Thank you all for your wonderful support.**

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**_They were just two jerks playing with matches,  
'Cause that's all they knew how to play._**

"You know you're not allowed to play with matches".

She tells him this, over and over. Every single day she must remind him. He pretends to have forgotten. Pretends to apologize. She pretends to believe him, living her lies because it's easier than facing the truth. The truth holds only pain for her. When she faces the truth, she faces his eyes.

Cold. Shrewd. He doesn't love like he should. Doesn't laugh like he should. She knows there's something wrong with him. She has known for years. She was so proud when he was born. So happy to hold him close to her and listen to his mewling cries in the first few weeks. She was happy then, before he could hurt her.

He was hers for five whole years. The first delicious five years, before he spoke. Before it occurred to her that he should have spoken. She had him for five perfect years but always the shadow of himself clung in the background. After five years, she could stake her claim no more. As he grew, so she did break.

She saw it happening before her. Saw how he abandoned sitting at the table, colouring placidly for the outdoors. The animals. The other children. She tried to persuade herself, at first, that he doesn't understand. How could he? That birds don't fly with one wing. That setting fire to insects hurts them. She explains over and over again and every single time he cries crocodile tears and tells her how he will never, ever, ever again harm a living creature.

She finds him one day, locked in the cellar when she goes down to do her laundry. She is puzzled at first and goes to sit beside him on the bottom step. He looks up at her with large eyes and she knows what he is telling her. She pulls him into her lap, ignoring the resistance he mounts at first. Soon he gives up and allows himself to be rocked. He says nothing. He speaks with his eyes.

"I'm sorry darling but you know Father's rules. You must stay down here for another ten minutes. I'm so sorry sweetheart, but I can't let you out. Don't look at me like that. You know that. You remember that, don't you, love? Would you like me to bring you something to eat?"

_Please don't look at me like that. I know you know your Father's rules. I can't fight him with you, love. He's broken me, you see. But he won't break you, will he, darling? At least you're strong enough not to be broken. Even if you don't... I don't know what you're missing. You are my existence, though. Don't you ever break on me. Never._

"Yes. How about that? Be careful though, and eat it nice and slowly. You don't want to make yourself sic- ill. No, you don't"

_That's what he called you. He said you were sick. But you're not. You're just...learning, that's all. Yes, that's it. You didn't mean to break the bird's wing with your little catapult. It was an accident. Yes. An accident. You didn't revel in the gore or aim specifically for it. He doesn't what he's talking about._

"Isn't Father silly to put you down here? On the naughty step. You're nearly too big for the naughty step now, darling. You're nearly eight! Can you believe it?"

_You're only seven. Seven. How can you go wrong in seven years? How can I have lost you so soon?_

"You're getting so big right before me! You don't need the naughty step"

_You're not naughty. You're just curious. How can he think that you're sick, my beautiful, precious boy?_

"You're not a child anymore, are you?"

_As if you're not well. As if you are broken or defective. You're just... willful._

"You know what? I think I'll speak with him about this whole business. Silly, really, isn't it? Naughty step indeed! As if you were just a little boy!"

_I won't. I know that you know that I know that I'm so desperate to avoid the black and white of the situation. To avoid what it is that compels you to... misbehave. But I still love you more than anything. More than the world. That has to count for something._

"Never too big for a cuddle though. You must be freezing. I'm surprised you still want my cuddles though, love, you're so big now. So grown up"

_Please. Never push me away. Never leave me. Don't grow up. Let me keep you, you're heartbeat next to mine like when you were a baby and I'll hold you together. I'll stop you from drifting apart. From losing any more pieces of you._

"Now, would you like to give me the matches? You know you're not supposed to play with them. Good boy. That's my baby. Honestly, why you want such things! They can hurt you, Yassen. You have to be careful, precious. No, don't sulk. It's alright. Shall I show you a trick with the matches? Yes? Alright. Look at the bright little flame! Isn't it pretty with it's tail of smoke? Now watch. Look. I can put my finger back and forward through it. And it doesn't hurt at all. Look"

_Is it my fault that you lean towards the flames, their flickers reflecting in your icy eyes? My fault that you are drawn to them? No. That's silly. You're just... cold. You're leaning toward the warmth, that's all._

"Now blow it out. Nice and strong. Yes, my lovely big boy. Wasn't that nice? Will I show you how to put your finger through fire without getting hurt? Yes. When you're older I promise I'll show you. I'll teach you to do it just like mummy. I promise".

_**And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking,  
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes.**_

She tries to teach him. To help him. But it doesn't change a thing. He doesn't get better. He gets better at getting away with it, perhaps. She holds him as long as she can but he pushes her away soon. He doesn't care for her tricks any longer. He doesn't want to be held. He wanders the forest for hours, running and swimming and climbing. All by himself. He has no problem making friends. It's keeping them he struggles over.

He brings one home once. Nickolai. Two days later, after he visits his friend's house, the family canary goes missing. She finds yellow feathers in his room and weeps for what she's lost. Not long after, death washes over Estrov. He leaves before the aid arrives. She doesn't look for him. She can't muster the strength. She spends her last days, dying, in a hospital that reeks of disinfectant and death.

He leaves her and she dies, further from him than she's ever been.

When they found her, she sat at a dining table still set for two. She had poured squash in a glass for him. She watched his seat while she pretended to eat. The aid workers stopped at the fringe of the room, knowing that what they were witnessing was the result of a life of pain and suffering. He twisted her feelings around his iron grasp even when he was long gone. The aid workers observed silently as she sat.

She sat staring at his place, broken hearted, numbly aware of her loss. Broken hearted. No. She'd lost her heart when he'd left. He'd taken it with him. She couldn't feel anything. She'd loved him. She'd loaned him her love. She wanted to hold him together but when he'd left, it was she who'd fallen apart. Angrily, she hurled her cutlery across the table, breaking the glass of squash.

"I couldn't save you. From him. From yourself. I... I didn't" she whispered it to the tablecloth, the filmy edges quivering under her slight, shallow breath. As flimsy as her love, in the end. She'd loved him more than anything but it hadn't been enough. Why hadn't it been enough?

She picked up one of the candles, her fingers frail, and passed her hand through the flame. The fire held no bite as long as she stayed clear of the blue part.

But his seven year old face didn't light up. _Did it ever? Did he ever once smile properly? His face, it never shone. _And his intelligent, brutal eyes didn't watch her. _Did he ever really see me?_

She wanted to ask him so many things. So many questions trampled through her mind. _Why did you leave? Why didn't you stay with me? Why did you do such horrible things? You tortured animals with fire when I could have taught you. Why did you do such awful things when I was here, waiting, willing to teach you? To love you unconditionally?_ The words balked in her mouth. She wanted to ask him so many, _many things_.

She can't because now she lies in a hospital, spluttering like the end of the match, clinging to dear life. She can't speak anymore.

The match drops. Someone stands on it and it battles, so hard. It folds in on itself and gutters out with one long, low hiss of complaint.

And so does she.

**_I'm still a jerk playing with matches,  
_****_It's just that he's not around to play along,_  
_Blowing out my wishes, blowing out my dreams_,  
**_**Just sitting here and trying to decipher,  
What's written in Braille upon my skin...**_

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**Fin. Again, please review.**


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